Not In One Bottom Trusted
by Pargoletta
Summary: A new business venture was all Antonio, the Merchant of Venice, had in mind when he traveled to Verona. But his journey will end up changing the lives of almost everyone he encounters. A Caro-verse story.
1. Friends That Purpose Merriment

Note: Welcome to this story! It's a little different from some of the stories I've written before, in that it's based as much on _The Merchant of Venice_ as on _Romeo and Juliet_, if not more. In addition, a few other works make cameo appearances, notably _Othello_ and _The Taming of the Shrew_. Even Verdi's opera _Rigoletto_ sneaks its way in! But for all that (possibly because of all that), it's still a part of the _Caro_-verse, and you'll see plenty of familiar faces here.

Like my more _Romeo and Juliet_-based stories, I'm using a movie for reference here, in this case Michael Radford's 2004 _The Merchant of Venice_. I have to admit, I don't like _The Merchant of Venice_ all that much, but the film is brilliant, primarily because it addresses everything I don't like about the play. Where the characters of _Romeo and Juliet_ are basically good-hearted, if not necessarily bright, the characters of _The Merchant of Venice_ are all ugly and dishonorable in their own ways, and the anti-Semitism that they express in this story is entirely in character for them.

Regarding currency . . . the ducat, the scudo, and the lira were all Italian coins in circulation throughout Europe during the Renaissance. The ducat is the most familiar, I think it was the most widely used, and it's certainly the coin that Shakespeare mentions most often in conjunction with his Italians. The lira was historically associated with the city of Mantua, though in _Rigoletto_, the scudo is the coin of choice.

Finally, one character will quote portions of a poem. The poem is Petrarch's Sonnet 292 from his Canzioniere, and the translation is by Anthony Mortimer.

That's all for now. I'll see you at the end.

* * *

**1. Friends That Purpose Merriment

* * *

**

The evening breeze of late spring blew cool in Venice, just enough to ruffle hair and cool a brow made sweaty by the warmth of the day. It carried the rich, complex scents of the city and the cleaner saltwater tang of the lagoon over the courtyard where two gentlemen of middling years sat, sated with a fine dinner, enjoying small glasses of grappa and friendly conversation.

The two were old friends and occasional business partners. Antonio Solera had accumulated a vast fortune at a young age through fortunate speculation, and now owned a fleet of fine ships that sailed the world to bring exotic foreign luxuries to Venice. His current host, Stefano Giacosa, was not nearly as bold a speculator, but had an artist's eye and a happy talent for marketing, and had amassed his own respectable fortune from his interests in the glass furnaces of Murano. On more than one occasion, he had put up money for one of Antonio's ventures, and had been rewarded handsomely with a selection of the goods to retail in one of his shops. It was because of Stefano's skills in the marketplace that Antonio had come to visit him today.

"Verona or Mantua?" Stefano mused, holding his glass of grappa up to catch the last rays of the setting sun. "The choice is hardly clear. I cannot see why thou wouldst wish to establish partnerships in either of those cities."

Antonio leaned forward in his chair. "Why, might one ask?"

Stefano snorted, but a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "One might also ask wherefore thou wouldst establish foreign partnerships at all," he countered. "Hast thou not enough market for thy goods here in Venice?"

"Ah." Antonio sat back and grinned at his old friend. "Fear not, Stefano. It is hardly my intent to replace thee as marketer or friend. Thou art a most enviable resource to any merchant of Venice, but thou hast thy own interests as well. I have of late acquired another ship that I intend to send to the Indies, perhaps as far as Mexico. I would not burden thee overmuch."

"That is a comfort."

"Thou shalt receive thy choice of the Mexican treasure, I swear to thee. But I would not force the neglect of thy glassmakers in Murano upon thee, neither. Tell me what thou dost know of the cities I have named."

Mollified, Stefano sipped at his grappa for a moment and considered his next words. "I should not have chosen either of them," he said. "Padua, perhaps. Or Ferrara."

Antonio shook his head, and a look of gloom spread over his face. "The market in Ferrara is full, and cannot bear one more merchant," he said. "And our Doge rules Padua with a firm hand; there is no challenge there."

"Well, if it is challenge that thou desirest, then challenge wilt thou have in Verona and Mantua both," Stefano said with a mirthless chuckle. "Do not mistake me; both cities boast merchants as skilled as thou, who would relish the chance to trade goods with thee. But they are hardly without their own quarrels. Therefore, choose wisely among the merchants there."

"Well, how wouldst thou choose, Stefano?" Antonio asked. "Thou hast clearly had dealings in both places."

Stefano did not answer for a moment. He rose from his chair and paced the length of the courtyard, pausing on his return to pour himself another glass of grappa and top up Antonio's drink as well.

"Mantua is the wealthier of the two cities," he said at last. "And in the days of our youth, I would have urged thee there with all speed. But the present Duke is a man who cares more for sport and pleasure than good governance, and the city suffers for it. Thieves and murderers roam unapprehended, and I have heard that the Duke engages the Jews of the city to sing and dance at his court. Trust not thy ventures to that city, Antonio."

"Then thou wouldst commend me to Verona?" Antonio considered the prospect, and gave a wry shrug.

Stefano laughed. "I would not deprive thee of the markets in Mantua. Go to Verona, for the two lie not distant from each other. There are families in Verona who could tie thee to Mantua, if thou wouldst trade the scudo and the lira as well as the ducat."

"Then I shall go to Verona," Antonio declared, but Stefano held up a hand.

"Take care, Antonio," he said. "Verona is not without its own perils. That city is torn with internal strife, and thou must choose thy partnerships with care, lest another faction rise against thee."

That remark gave Antonio pause. He swirled the grappa in his glass and took a contemplative sip. "Methinks that Mantua is the lesser of the two perils, for all the brigands and Jews in the city."

His tone was so despondent that Stefano could not stifle a laugh. "Fear not Verona, dear Antonio," he said. "I have had acquaintances with certain of the gentlemen of that city, and I shall commend thee to them. Thou shalt meet with both men, and see if thou canst not form alliance there. And for my part, I shall receive handsome reward for my aid in forging a tie between thy chosen ally and our great city."

At those words, a great weight seemed to rise from Antonio's shoulders. In truth, he had worried for many days about the effect that his decision to expand his trading empire would have on his friendship with Stefano. But now that Stefano looked to share a small part of the profits of Antonio's ventures, it seemed that all was once again well between them. Antonio sat a little straighter in his chair and allowed a smile to crease his thin face.

"Then it is decided," he said. "To Verona shall I travel."

Stefano raised his glass. "To Verona and fortune!"

Antonio tapped his glass against Stefano's. Just as they drank, the door to the house opened, and a handsome, lanky youth sauntered out into the courtyard. "Why, what is in Verona?" he asked.

Stefano laughed. "Naught that need concern thee, my son," he said. "Thy godfather and I speak of matters for men. I would see thee engaged with thy studies a while longer."

"Bassanio." Antonio held out his hand, and Bassanio came to him and gave it a squeeze. "I have not seen thee for far too long. Thy father has told me that thou hast recently made a new acquaintance."

Stefano gave a good-natured snort, but Bassanio's face glowed with excitement. "Ay, my father speaks truly. Gratiano is a gentleman of this city but few years my senior. He has traveled abroad, and he has told me many a strange tale of his adventures. He has shown me places in Venice that I had not dreamed of."

"Thy godson has discovered the stews and the dice-houses, Antonio," Stefano said, and though his face was stern, he could not keep a shade of fatherly warmth from his voice.

Antonio smiled. "Alas that boys must grow into men. But come now, I'll wager there is still boy left in him." He turned to Bassanio. "Thy noble father and I spoke of Verona and of Mantua," he said. "In a week's time, perhaps a little more, I shall travel to Verona to seek business partnerships. Perhaps there is aught that I might bring thee from my travels?"

Bassanio's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Sweet my godfather, wouldst thou bring me a fine velvet hat with a feather?"

Antonio laughed. "Mark this, Stefano," he said. "Thy son is yet boy enough to desire a frippery from his old godfather. Ay, Bassanio. Thou shalt have the finest velvet hat to be had in all of Verona."

Stefano nodded. "He has no need of another hat," he said, "but neither will I counsel my son to refuse a gift offered in so generous a spirit. Hast thou aught to say, Bassanio?"

"I thank thee," Bassanio said, with a grand, sweeping bow that Antonio was sure he had learned only recently from his dancing master. Bassanio pivoted on his heel and made a smaller bow to his father. "By your leave," he said, and at Stefano's nod, he went back into the house.

Antonio smiled after him. "He has grown tall and well-favored," he observed, "and thou canst take much pride in him. Wilt thou have him matched soon?"

"I had considered the prospect," Stefano answered. "Bassanio is still a youth, but the last plague did drive home the fragility even of the loveliest flower. Vittoria and I grow no younger, and I know that she dreams of a grandson to dandle upon her knee."

"Bassanio is still more boy than man. I cannot imagine him with a son of his own."

Stefano shrugged. "There is yet time. I have observed the maid-children of Venice, with an eye to arranging a match when they come of a riper age. What think you of the daughter of Brabantio?"

Antonio had never had many dealings with Venice's military men, and he had almost no recollection of their families. He furrowed his brow in thought, and came up with the vague image of a little blonde girl sitting primly with her embroidery so as not to dirty her fine brocaded dress. "I see no cause to object," he ventured.

"Thou hast no memory of the girl," Stefano said, laughing out loud. "Well, it is not important. He is not thy charge to match, and thou hast no cause to recall a particular small maid."

"I shall cast an eye through Verona," Antonio offered. "Perhaps I shall spy a likely maid there whose family would not object to a match with a family of means in Venice."

"I would be forever in thy debt."

"Then it is settled. I shall seek a trading partner for myself and a prospect for thy son." Antonio drained the last drops of his grappa and set the glass on the bench beside him.

"Wilt thou leave so soon?" Stefano asked.

"Ay." Antonio rose to his feet and Stefano followed suit. "I thank thee for thy hospitality, but I must begin to put my household in order that I might depart in a week's time. I shall see thee to take my leave of thee before then."

Stefano embraced him. "I shall send word to the gentlemen of Verona, and they will await thy pleasure."

Antonio bowed to his host, and left the garden.

* * *

He spent much of the week readying his letters of credit, arranging a supply of cash for the journey, and packing away samples of the gold, silks, and spices that were the basis of his trade. He left the house in the charge of his steward, but chose a retinue of men at arms and personal servants to accompany him to Verona, including an African Moor for effect.

Antonio visited Stefano once more before he left. As he had promised, Stefano had sent letters ahead to the heads of two wealthy families of Verona. "Thou wilt not lack hospitality there," he said, "for either man will offer thee a fine bed and entertainment. However, if thou dost desire other lodging, speak to Signior Amerigo Neri."

Antonio nodded his thanks. He suspected that he might pay Signior Neri a call in the end; it would not do to show favor while still courting the two merchants of Verona.

"Speak not the name of Montague in the house of Capulet, nor the name of Capulet in the house of Montague," Stefano went on. "I have had news that that feud is quiet at the moment, but I would not see thee fan the flames to life again."

"Of course."

"But come, let us dine!" Stefano gestured toward the doors that led to the dining salon. "It is thy last night in Venice for at least a fortnight, and I shall not let thee go without some good cheer."

Stefano's wife Vittoria awaited them in the dining salon. She greeted Antonio with a deep curtsey, and permitted him to kiss her hand. Bassanio stood at his mother's side, and Antonio embraced him fondly and ruffled his hair, which he immediately smoothed with his hands. Antonio smiled, remembering the vanity of his own youth, and Vittoria laughed.

"My son will attend a masque this night in the company of his new friend Gratiano," she explained. "I am not convinced that it is the most proper use of his time, but I cannot begrudge him such fine entertainment. I fear that Stefano and I have become dull with our years."

Antonio smiled. "Madam, you and your noble husband will never grow dull, and your company will never tarnish."

"You are a flatterer, Signior Antonio," Vittoria said.

Stefano raised his glass. "Then let us drink to the health of our flatterer, that he may show us the better side of our own natures for many years to come."

Vittoria and Bassanio raised their glasses as well, murmured assent to the toast, and drank deeply. Then Stefano signaled to his servants, who quickly filled trenchers from the dishes on the sideboard and set them before the family.

The dinner was excellent, as Antonio had expected, for Stefano's cook was one of the most renowed in Venice. Antonio savored every bite of the fish pasty and the delicate white wine, and shared some of his plans with Stefano. Stefano was pleased that Signior Neri would house Antonio during his sojourn in Verona. He agreed that it was better to avoid lodging with either of the two gentlemen whose business Antonio would solicit.

A gentle question to Bassanio provoked a lengthy, animated tale of Bassanio's latest adventures prowling the city with his friends Gratiano and Lorenzo, including a trip to the ghetto to ogle the pretty Jewesses hurrying about preparing for their Sabbath. Vittoria was horrified that her son had visited such a dangerous neighborhood and scolded him roundly. But Antonio caught Stefano's eye, and they hid their smiles behind their hands, for they both remembered youthful days spent trying to tweak the beards of the Jewish moneylenders and steal the veils from their wives.

Such sociability prolonged the meal until well after the stars had appeared in the sky, but at last, Antonio had to return to his bed, so that he could rise early for his departure. He embraced Stefano and bowed courteously to Vittoria. "I pray you forget not the hat that you promised me," Bassanio said.

Stefano frowned at his son's impertinence, but Antonio laughed. "I shall find a hatmaker before I depart Verona," he assured Bassanio. "I have even written myself a letter so that I will not forget."

He embraced his godson, then turned and left for his home.


	2. This Childhood Proof

**2. This Childhood Proof**

Antonio rose early, as he had intended, but found that luck was not with him at the start of his journey. Two young noblemen of his acquaintance, Salarino and Solanio, appeared at his door with urgent pleas for advice. They had spent the previous evening amusing themselves in the ghetto, and had teased one young girl, saying that she was pretty enough that they would have to carry her off to the nuns for conversion. Unfortunately, the girl had run home in tears, and now her father had sent his servant to the houses of Salarino and Solanio with messages summoning both of them to the Doge's court. Salarino and Solanio were certain that they would be amerced a heavy fine, and clamored to Antonio, begging his help to pay it.

Though he knew he should not waste the daylight hours, Antonio had never been able to refuse a handsome young man anything. He bade his boatman tarry a while, and set off for the Rialto, scattering a large flock of pigeons as he passed through the Piazza San Marco. On the Rialto, Solanio pointed the girl's father out to Antonio. Not wishing to prolong the confrontation, Antonio marched smartly up to the usurer and whipped the red cap from his head.

"Give me my hat, sir," the Jew said, in a tone that was clipped but still polite.

"I shall give you that," Antonio replied, "and more besides. I am to understand that you have threatened my friends with the punishment of the Doge's court, Shylock."

"Ay, sir," Shylock said. "They did make threats against my daughter, and I will have justice."

"But not from the Doge. Think you that he would accept the accusation of a faithless Jew against two youths of such gentle birth as these?"

Shylock scowled. "They did threaten my daughter. I will have justice."

"And if the Doge were to judge that true justice required that your daughter become a Christian, as my friends have suggested? For I can find those who will whisper such wisdom in his ear." Antonio carefully kept his expression neutral as Shylock's scowl deepened. No one spoke for a moment.

Finally, Shylock gave a grunt. "Very well. I shall withdraw my suit and my daughter."

Antonio returned the cap and gave Shylock a friendly clap on the shoulder. Shylock twisted away and made a show of returning to his business. Antonio beckoned to Salarino and Solanio, and the trio left the Rialto for a quieter corner. "Look you that you do not anger the Jew again," Antonio said. "Stay clear of his daughter. She is not worth the trouble."

"Perhaps not now," Salarino said. "But when she is grown, may we not revisit the matter?"

Antonio glanced at the heavens for strength. "Do as you wish when that time is come. But prithee, do not delay me further."

The youths bowed to him, and he hurried back to his home. As he had instructed, his coach was still waiting for him, but the sun had risen high in the sky. With an exasperated curse at the stubbornness of Shylock, Antonio sat back as the boat glided out on its late start.

* * *

He had hoped to make it as far as Longare in his first day of travel, but settled for Padua instead. As his page ran to an inn to arrange lodging, Antonio glanced around the square where the coachman had paused to water the horses. From the window of the coach, he could see the back gate of the house where his merchant colleague Baptista dwelled. He would have to invite Baptista to join him for a drink that evening, Antonio mused.

A maid was busy doing something in the garden, though Antonio could not quite see what that task was. While her back was turned, the gate opened, and a little blonde girl of no more than four or five years peeked out. Seeing that no one objected, she ventured one step out, revealing a pretty, though highly impractical, white dress. She chewed thoughtfully on the end of her little plait and contemplated the large world outside her doorstep. Antonio smiled to see her. He had always had a secret fondness for children, even though he had never cared to find a wife and beget any of his own.

As he watched, a pack of slightly older boys charged across the square. Upon seeing the little girl all dressed in spotless white, they hooted and laughed. Then, one seized up a handful of mud from the street and tossed it. The little girl could not twist out of the way in time, and in an instant, her beautiful white skirt bore a filthy, dripping stain. Her face screwed up, and she began to cry.

The maid did not appear to notice, but someone else did. A cry of rage shrilled across the square, and the boys grew even more excited.

"Ho, Katharina!" they cried. "Look where she comes!"

Another girl, clearly the older sister of the little one, charged out of the gate, her dark hair flying loose from its pins. With a shriek of fury, she launched herself at the boys. Most of them scattered, but one unlucky lad went down in the mud beneath Katharina's fists. His fellows cheered, though Antonio could not tell whether they backed him or Katharina. He himself gave a small and secret cheer for the tomboyish girl bravely defending her sister's honor.

Just as Katharina rubbed her opponent's nose in the dirt, the gate opened, and Signior Baptista himself came out into the street. He pulled his older daughter off of the boy, who took the opportunity to scurry away with his companions. Baptista leaned down, and began to scold Katharina in a tone of hushed fury, ending with a firm swat to her backside. Then he turned around and picked up his younger daughter. In a manner as gentle as his manner with Katharina had been harsh, he dried her tears and petted her hair as he carried her back inside the gate. Katharina watched them go with a scowl on her face, then flounced inside after them.

Antonio heard the gate slam, and then all was silent in the street once more. After a moment's thought, he decided not to invite Baptista for drinks, after all.

* * *

After Padua, Antonio stayed another night in Vicenza, and the coach reached Verona that evening. Antonio looked at the letters that Stefano had given him. He was to lodge with Signior Amerigo Neri and call upon the two merchants the next day. Signior Neri welcomed him warmly, claiming that any friend of Stefano Giacosa was welcome in his house.

"I only regret that my daughter is no longer here to welcome you," he said. "She would sing and accompany herself upon the lute, so sweetly that one would think that an angel from Heaven had been sent down to entertain us mortals on earth."

"I am sorry to hear of her absence," Antonio said. "Is she dead?"

"Dead?" Signior Neri laughed. "Nay, she is married. To Count Orsino, a fine match, and I am glad of it. But still, I miss her sweet presence in my home."

Antonio smiled at the doting father, and eagerly accepted his offer of a light supper. After they had eaten, he showed Signior Neri the letters of introduction that Stefano had written.

Signior Neri looked over both letters, and his eyebrows crawled slowly towards his hairline. When he had finished, he blew out a breath of admiration. "You aim high, Signior Solera," he said.

"Do I?" Antonio studied Signior Neri's dubious expression. "Will you tell me of your doubts, sir? For you are more acquainted with these gentlemen than I."

"I am," Signior Neri replied, "and that is only because my income derives from certain estates of land that I hold outside Verona's walls. These are proud men, Signior Solera, and in truth, I know not if they count each other more as friends or rivals. You would do well to tread with caution when you speak of business matters, but I wager that you will find both men well disposed to hear your suit."

"And if you were in my position?" Antonio asked. "With which one would you choose to throw in your fortune?"

Signior Neri pursed his lips together in thought for several long moments. "Signior Capulet," he said at last, "though he is entangled in the quarrel that divides our city. The other . . . well, you shall meet him on the morrow, and then you may make your own judgement in the matter."

* * *

Antonio took care dressing himself in the morning, and spent the early hours in pleasant conversation with his host as his Moor went ahead to the houses of the two merchants. When the Moor returned, Antonio summoned two more pages to attend him, gave the Moor a chest of samples to carry, and set out first for the house of Signior Giacomo Rinuccini.

The house was large and regal, and Antonio recalled that Signior Rinuccini had some family connection to the royal house of Verona as well as relations in Mantua. That would be useful, and it was certainly a point in Rinuccini's favor. The servant who opened the door was tall and handsome, and was of such noble bearing that he might almost have been mistaken for the master of the house himself. He nodded politely to the Moor, then turned to Antonio.

"I am Domenico," he said. "If it please you sir, my master awaits you within."

Antonio allowed Domenico to guide his little party along, and took advantage of the walk to glance over the household. The furnishings were rich and of impeccable taste, and Antonio caught a glimpse of a charming fruit orchard through one of the windows. It was clear that Signior Rinuccini was a man who did not hesitate to display his wealth, but did not flaunt it too overtly in the faces of his guests. This was the sort of man with whom Antonio enjoyed doing business, and he found himself looking forward to meeting the Signior.

After a short walk, Domenico ushered them into a small receiving room. A fire crackled in the hearth, lending a warm glow to the exquisite wood paneling. Antonio's host was seated in a chair by the fire, and he rose immediately to greet his guest.

"Signior Solara," Rinuccini said, his voice as dark and smooth as the wood of his receiving room. "I am honored to make your acquaintance, particularly after the words that my friend Stefano Giacosa has written concerning you." He smiled, and the waxed tips of his mustache bobbed a little. Antonio noted the tips and wondered if the man had connections in Rheims as well, or even Paris.

"The honor is mine, sir," he replied. Rinuccini offered him a second chair and sent Domenico to fetch wine. The chair was broad and comfortable, which Antonio's sore back appreciated. Rinuccini seated himself with a flourish of his green brocaded robe. He made some pleasant remarks about the weather, and inquired about Antonio's journey. In only a short time, Domenico reappeared with the wine.

"To your health, Signior Solara," Rinuccini said, "and to a profitable meeting." Antonio smiled, and the two men drank. The wine was excellent, and Antonio said so.

"It is from my own vineyards," Rinuccini replied. "That is part of my secret. I have lands and estates that provide well enough for my family that I can afford to speculate. The proper courage in that matter can bring handsome rewards."

Antonio looked around him at the rich surroundings, equal to anything he would have expected of a man of similar station in Venice. "So it appears," he said. Rinuccini was clearly a shrewd man, and the prospect of forging an alliance with him was looking more attractive with each passing moment. "You have built an empire," he observed.

Rinuccini smiled, then laughed out loud. "Ay, you are correct, though perhaps your Doge would not be pleased to hear the comparison. But there is more to it. As any good emperor must, I have begotten myself heirs, and I am certain that they will raise my empire to new heights."

"Oh?" Antonio's interest was piqued.

"Unfortunately, my elder son is not at home today," Rinuccini said. "But allow me to present the younger." He turned to his servant. "Domenico, fetch Valentine to me."

Domenico bowed, and left the room. He returned a few moments later with Valentine in tow. The boy seemed young, perhaps seven or eight, but he was already possessed of a natural grace, and Antonio was sure he would be heartbreakingly handsome when he grew up. Valentine stood just inside the doorway, his eyes darting nervously back and forth between his father and the stranger.

"Come forward, Valentine." Rinuccini's voice was still as smooth and soft as silk, but Valentine suddenly took on the appearance of a deer that has smelled the scent of hunters on the breeze. He took one hesitant step forward, then another, edging a little closer to Antonio each time. There was something troubling about that, but Antonio pushed it to the back of his mind.

"This man is my guest, a great merchant from Venice itself," Rinuccini said. "I would have thee speak for him. Give us a piece that thou hast learned."

Valentine swallowed, then placed his hands behind his back. In a soft clear voice that shook a little at first, but then steadied, he began to recite.

"The eyes I spoke of once in words that burn,

The arms and hands and feet and lovely face

That took me from myself for such a space

Of time and marked me out from other men . . ."

Antonio was familiar with the sonnet, and Valentine spoke it well. He was obviously a clever child, well trained and eager to please. Antonio liked him at once, but could not help but notice the glances that Valentine shot towards his father. It took him a few moments to make the connection, but one glance of his own at Rinuccini's stony face left no room for doubt. Valentine was not merely shy; he was terrified of his father.

"Here let my loving song come to a close;" Valentine recited,

"The vein of my accustomed art is dry,

And this, my lyre, turned at last to tears."

"Bravo!" Antonio said, and smiled at the boy. Valentine managed a charming, nervous half-smile, then fled the room. Antonio heard a sharp intake of breath, and looked around just in time to see ice cold anger on Rinuccini's face before the man composed himself into the genial host he had been when Antonio had first laid eyes on him.

An image flashed in his mind of Bassanio at Valentine's age. Though Stefano had not been the sort to spoil his son with too much attention, Bassanio had always been lively, confident, and a great friend to his father's guests, eager to show off and be praised. By contrast, Valentine's pinched, frightened expression distressed Antonio deeply.

"Shall I show you the storehouses?" Rinuccini asked, calm and unctuous once more.

Suddenly, Antonio did not want to be in the same room with the man any longer than necessary. He gazed at Rinuccini's meticulously groomed beard and sumptuous clothing, and saw only a frightened child.

"Nay, I have seen enough," Antonio said. "I thank you for your hospitality, and I shall trouble you no longer."

Something shifted in Rinuccini's face, and for an instant, Antonio caught a glimpse of the same icy fury that Rinuccini had turned on his son. But that coldness was gone in an instant. Rinuccini bowed deeply. "Of course," he said. "Domenico will show you to the door."

Gratefully, Antonio left that house and set off to visit Signior Capulet.


	3. Our Leisures To Attend On Yours

**3. Our Leisures To Attend On Yours

* * *

**

Once out in the street, Antonio took a few moments to compose himself before continuing on to the house of Capulet. After his interview with Signior Rinuccini, he was more than a little apprehensive about what he might find in Signior Capulet. But, he reminded himself, those two men could not possibly be the only two merchants in Verona. Now that he was in the city, he could always ask Signior Neri to recommend him to others.

A tiny sting of guilt pricked his conscience for leaving Signior Rinuccini so rudely, but he squashed it quickly. He had better uses for his time than to spend them in the company of such a two-faced man, and it was far better to have left early than to have stayed and risked meeting the elder son, who would presumably be as calculating and cold as his father.

The streets of Verona were narrow and twisted, and Antonio was not paying much attention to his route. As a result, he was soon lost. He wandered for a little while, and finally stumbled out onto a broad, sunny piazza with a church at one end, and a graceful little arcade on the side. A gang of youths, clearly wealthy and gently born, lounged near a fountain, and they looked at Antonio with some interest as he approached them.

"I pray ye pardon my intrusion," Antonio said. "I am a stranger in these parts, and I have lost my way. Does any one of you know the way to the house of Capulet?"

The youths stared at him as though he had just asked to be guided to the gates of Hell itself. Several of them looked uncomfortable, and one or two stifled gasps of laughter. With a sinking feeling, Antonio recalled that Verona was in the midst of a feud that involved the house of Capulet. It took no great leap of imagination to guess that these boys were of the opposing house. He would find no aid from this quarter.

Just as he was about to bid the youths farewell and move on, one skinny blond boy gave his companions a shove. "What witless apes are you," he said, though his tone was more amiable than his words. "There is no shame in giving aid to a stranger, even if the name of Capulet be invoked. I shall breathe no word to your families." He left his friends and approached Antonio, though he kept a certain distance. "That way," he said, pointing down the street at the end of the arcade. "Pass by the Prince's palace, and follow the street of great houses where the aldermen of the city do dwell. That will lead you to the house that you seek."

Antonio bowed gravely. "My thanks to you," he said, but the boy had already melted back into the crowd of his companions. He nodded to the youths and set out in the direction that the blond boy had given him.

* * *

The directions were good, and it was not long before Antonio found himself at the gate of the house of Capulet. The house was of a size with the house of Rinuccini, and seemed to have a similar orchard attached. The servant who opened the door was a short boy with red hair and freckles and a broad, cheerful grin that somehow made his loud outfit of yellow, red, black, and white seem humorous rather than tasteless. He introduced himself as Peter and did not stop talking as he led Antonio through the corridors to find the master of the house.

Signior Leonardo Capulet awaited him in a cheerful, cluttered study. Large windows let the sun shine in upon frescoed plaster walls, and books and papers and other knickknacks littered the desk. In the midst of this controlled chaos, Signior Capulet bustled about. He was a stout man of middle years, clean-shaven, and attired in a rich but comfortable-looking red robe with a fine brown surcoat. When Peter called, he turned around to greet Antonio with open arms.

"Signior Solara!" he cried. "Be welcome in my house. I have anticipated this meeting ever since I received Signior Giacosa's kind letter. Come, seat yourself. Peter, wine!" He motioned Antonio to a sturdy, padded armchair near the hearth. Peter hurried away.

Antonio relaxed at once, and even felt himself smiling, something he did not do very often. Signior Capulet fussed with some of the papers on his desk, but quickly conceded defeat. "How does Stefano Giacosa?" he asked.

"He is well, and I am sure he would thank you for the asking. "His health and his wealth both prosper and he and his lady wife have begun to consider the prospect of a bride for their son, Bassanio."

Capulet's face split into a broad grin. "That is excellent news. You may relay word to him that, should he care to travel so far from Venice as to visit an acquaintance in Verona, he is most welcome, and I will show him the beauties of our town for his son."

Antonio gave a gracious nod. "I will be sure to tell him of your offer."

Peter returned with the wine, and Capulet insisted that they drink a toast to their meeting. This formality accomplished, Capulet launched into a long description of his current business dealings. Where Rinuccini made his money primarily by speculating on luxury goods and relying on his land income to cushion him against bad guesses, Capulet had many diverse interests all over both Verona and Mantua, and relied on this variety to keep him; if one interest failed, the others would still support him. This was closer to Antonio's own method of doing business, and, while he had some desire for a partner who used other methods, he found himself nodding sympathetically as Capulet spoke.

"You have fingers in so many different markets," he ventured, when Capulet paused for breath. "Do you find much competition from your great rival?"

"Montague?" Capulet seemed startled that Antonio had raised that particular topic. "Nay, Montague does not deal in such things. We do not meet in the marketplace."

Antonio wondered what the basis of the feud was, since it did not seem to have arisen from a business rivalry, but he decided that the better part of wisdom lay in silence. At any rate, it did not appear that any partnership between himself and Capulet would be marred by the feud with the house of Montague.

Capulet seemed to sense that Antonio was moving towards securing the partnership, and his manner grew even more affable. "Come," he said, "let me show you my house. I am sure you saw almost nothing on your way inside, for Peter moves with the swiftness of youth."

This was certainly true, and Antonio accepted the offer gladly. The house was constructed in a large square around a central courtyard, where a fountain tinkled merrily. Many windows looked out onto this courtyard, some of which were opened to take advantage of the spring breezes. One entire corridor was open to the air, with only a roof to ward off rain. Servants bustled about, pausing to make reverence to the master, who acknowledged them with smiles and nods.

A blur of movement in the courtyard caught Antonio's eye, and he and Capulet glanced out a window to investigate. A striking little girl in a red velvet dress ran giggling through the courtyard, her long dark hair streaming behind her. She paused and looked up at the window. Spotting her father and his guest, she waved, then darted away to hide behind the fountain as a plump woman just coming into her middle years emerged from the house. The girl could not stifle another giggle, and the woman advanced, caught her in her arms, and started to tickle her.

Antonio was so absorbed in this scene that he started when Capulet laid a hand on his shoulder. "My daughter, Juliet," he said quietly, in a voice warmed with pride.

"A charming girl. How old is she?"

"On Lammas Eve she will be ten," Capulet said. "In her are all my hopes."

Antonio considered this information. Juliet was still young, but then, so was Bassanio. Bassanio should have more time to enjoy his youth and secure a place in the world, but by the time that he had done that, Juliet would be of an appropriate age to marry. And, as Capulet's only child, she would bring a considerable fortune of her own to the union. She seemed friendly enough, and Antonio guessed that she and Bassanio might well find happiness together.

Capulet smiled. "You seem to have an interest in her."

"Ay. She is young, but perhaps, in a few years . . . for the son of Giacosa?"

"A worthy offer," Capulet said. "I shall consider it. There are far worse fates for Juliet than to be the bride of the heir to a merchant of Venice."

Antonio nodded his agreement, and decided not to mention to Capulet that, as things stood now, Bassanio stood to inherit Antonio's fortune as well as his father's.

"Well," Capulet said, "as we are already debating marriage, it is clear that we two have much in common. Shall we seal our own partnership, and leave that of the children for another day?"

"Ay, let us do so." Antonio shook hands with Capulet, and felt entirely comfortable with the deal. For a brief moment, he felt sorry for little Valentine, but shrugged it off. Even if he had made a deal with Rinuccini, there was nothing that he could have done for the child, so it was best not to think too much about him.

"Since you and I are now partners, you must dine with my family," Capulet said. "And perhaps you will do us the honor of lodging here until you are ready to return to Venice?"

"I am currently lodging with Signior Amerigo Neri, but I suspect that he will not mind overmuch if I move," Antonio allowed.

"Splendid. Send your Moor to fetch your things."

* * *

Capulet's table was rich and fine, and it was further graced by his young wife, Isabella. It was abundantly clear how Juliet had come by her looks, for her mother was an elegant figure, with delicate features and flashing eyes. She treated her husband with respect, and if Antonio saw some distance between them, he ascribed it to the difference in their ages. The dinner was almost as pleasant as meals he had shared with Stefano, and he was more certain than ever that he had made the correct choice.

As he and Capulet spoke of Venice, he recalled one last errand, and asked Capulet for the name of the best hatmaker in Verona. Capulet chortled when he heard the reason for the request, and assigned Peter to guide Antonio there as soon as dinner was finished.

At the hatmaker's shop, Antonio browsed through a selection of hats already made, for he did not intend to stay in Verona long enough to order one made on the spot. The fashion in Verona appeared to be small felt caps, either with turned-up brims or a gently swelling crown. They were too simple to please Bassanio, or indeed anyone in Venice, but at the back of the shop, Antonio found something that was not the velvet that Bassanio had imagined but that would do quite nicely. It was a gorgeous creation of yellow silk, a padded roll around the head, wrapped in silk and strings of beads, supporting elegantly arranged and artfully slouched folds of material. It was outrageous, exotic, and extravagant, just the sort of thing that would delight Bassanio. The hatmaker noticed Antonio's interest, and smiled.

"That was ordered by the royal family," he said, "but at the last minute, I was asked to replace it in white."

"It is perfect," Antonio replied. He haggled a little with the hatmaker, and soon emerged into the afternoon sunshine with Peter trailing behind him carrying the wonderful hat wrapped carefully in a length of linen.

When he arrived at Capulet's house, he found the Moor bearing the last of his trunks inside, and another footman, called Sampson, showed him to a comfortable and well-appointed guest room.

Capulet invited a few select friends to join them for a light supper and drinks afterward in the orchard. The men were sociable and eager to her the latest news of Venice. In return, they shared information about the surrounding area, as well as the latest gossip from the court in Mantua. One had recently had the opportunity to attend that court, and spoke admiringly of the young Jew who served as one of the chief musicians. Antonio raised an eyebrow, and reminded himself to tell Stefano that his information had been true after all.

* * *

He slept deeply, worn out by the activity of the day and cradled in Capulet's excellent cushions. He woke in the morning refreshed, and took a little bit of leisure in washing and dressing himself for the day. However, when he stepped outside into the corridor, he noticed with amazement that the servants seemed excited, constantly pausing to share bits of gossip with each other.

Puzzled, Antonio made his way through the house until he found Signior Capulet in his study. Capulet seemed even more distressed than his servants, and was frantically sorting through his books. When Antonio entered, Capulet at first stared at him blankly before remembering his duties as host.

"Ah, Signior Solera," he said. "I trust you rested well?"

"I did. But what has happened? Your servants are in a mood, and you yourself appear to have much on your mind."

"Ay . . . forgive me, this is quite sudden." Capulet's focus wavered for an instant, then returned. "I do not have all of the details yet, and I fear that I must go to the Prince before long. But you should hear this news, for no reason other than that you will know the names involved. You did make a noble choice yesterday in entering an alliance with me; I know that I was not your only candidate for this position. I say this not in self-flattery, but merely to convey to you the import of the latest news of Verona."

"And what is that?"

Capulet blinked. For all his verbosity, it seemed that whatever had happened was so startling that he did not quite have the proper words to describe it.

"Such a thing has not happened in Verona before, to my knowledge," he offered. "It is an astonishment to me that it could have happened so suddenly, in the middle of the night."

Now Antonio was beginning to worry. "What is it? Has the plague come to Verona?" The city might be quarantined, and he would not be able to leave, perhaps for weeks.

Capulet looked startled, then shook his head. "Nay, nothing of the sort. The calamity is confined only to the men of business and commerce in the city. It appears that . . . Giacomo Rinuccini was banished from Verona last night."

The two men stared at each other, utterly lost for words.


	4. An Eye Of Pity

**4. An Eye Of Pity

* * *

**

Antonio recovered his wits first, and silently thanked his lucky stars that he had chosen to form his partnership with Capulet rather than Rinuccini. Capulet did not look half as pleased, and Antonio realized that, in a small city such as Verona, merchants tended to be much more interdependent than the large traders of Venice. He hoped that Capulet's business had not been so deeply intertwined with his rival's that he would have to advance funding to his new partner immediately.

Capulet fussed with his papers a little bit more, then stopped. "I really must go to the Prince," he said. "I shall be of no use today until I know what has happened." Then, as if the thought had just struck him, "Would it please you to accompany me? If not, I shall see to it that you do not lack entertainment . . ."

"I would accompany you gladly," Antonio said. Besides giving him a chance to come to know Capulet better, the outing would allow Antonio to gain a sense of the other business men of Verona, and possibly to catch a glimpse of the Prince as well.

* * *

The walk to the palace was not long, but a small crowd had already gathered. The palace guards used their pikes to herd the petitioners into a rough semblance of a queue, and Antonio and Capulet were fortunate enough to be relatively close to the head. Excited murmurs filled the air around them. Some rumors of a crime floated through the crowd, but no one seemed to know quite what it was. Antonio caught sight of Signior Neri standing not too far away, and asked him what he had heard.

"There is nothing definite," Neri replied. "I believe that the talk of crime is no more than a response to the gravity of the banishment. I have heard endless speculation about the nature of the crime, but no man has the same tale as his neighbor."

Antonio thanked him, and resigned himself to a long wait. Capulet surveyed the crowd and pursed his lips.

"Banishment is a harsh sentence in Verona, exceeded by death alone," he said. "I know not what Rinuccini could have done to merit it. He is not a pleasant man, but he is hardly a murderer."

If this had been Venice, Antonio might have doubted that statement, but he could not imagine that the men of provincial Verona were so prone to the vices of a city such as Venice. So he held his tongue and waited patiently for the Prince of Verona to respond to the unrest growing outside his gates.

They did not have to wait much longer before a small man with a neatly trimmed red beard emerged and announced that the Prince would see each petitioner briefly. The gossip, which had subsided a little during the wait, flared to life again and provided a source of amusement as the queue shuffled slowly forwards.

At last, the red-bearded man escorted Antonio and Capulet up the steps, down a corridor, and into a reception hall. From there, they moved to an antechamber, and finally to the private study of the Prince.

The Prince was neither old nor young, perhaps forty years of age, but he looked exhausted; stubble bristled on his face, and great purple rings circled his eyes. "I know you, Signior Capulet," he said, "but who is your companion?"

Capulet bowed. "This, my Lord, is Signior Antonio Solera, a merchant of Venice who has lately visited this city to establish a business partnership between us."

"Indeed." The Prince did not look particularly convinced, but neither did he seem angered.

Antonio bowed. "I seek no more than information, Lord," he said. "I would only ensure that this disruption will not affect my business."

The Prince nodded. "Very well. You may stay. As for your questions, Signior Capulet, may I presume that they are the same as those of all the other men I have seen this day?"

Capulet blushed. "It is . . . very likely, my Lord."

"Then I shall be brief. Signior Giacomo Rinuccini has been banished from Verona's walls, and he may not return, or else his life is forfeit. I believe that he has gone to dwell with his relations in Mantua. I shall not forbid him from maintaining his lands or his businesses, nor shall I forbid any other merchant of Verona -- or Venice -- from associating with him. But any and all such associations are to be handled outside of the city. If I discover that any other citizen of Verona has had a hand in aiding his return to the city, that man shall be put to death as well."

Capulet turned a shade paler, but maintained his composure. "I . . . understand. But what has he done to merit such disfavor?"

The Prince's face grew hard. "That is a private matter, between Rinuccini and myself. Rest assured that you are hardly likely to repeat the offense unwittingly." He turned away to signal that the interview was at an end.

Neither Antonio nor Capulet spoke as they left the palace. Antonio considered what he had just heard. It did not seem that the local business web was in pressing danger; the most that would happen would be that business would become inconvenient, and Rinuccini's position in Verona would wither away slowly enough that no great shock would disrupt the other merchants' lives. It was as satisfactory a conclusion as one could possibly wish to such an unpleasant business.

As they ambled up the street, Antonio vaguely remembered little Valentine. He hoped that the boy was well, wherever he was, but could do no more for him, and so put him out of his mind altogether.

* * *

Antonio stayed but one night longer in the house of Capulet, though its master entreated him to tarry longer. But Antonio much desired to set his business in order, and suspected that Capulet would need the time to do the same, so he bade his host a gracious farewell and set off after morning Mass.

A downpour forced a halt in Vincenza, and it was two days before the road was dry enough that the coach could continue on to Longere. Antonio was well wearied of travel by the time he arrived at the outskirts of Venice the following evening. His heart warmed as he settled back in the boat for the ride to his home, and he was even glad to see the pigeons. His servants looked at him strangely when he arrived, but said nothing. He assumed that some minor scandal had taken place during his absence, most likely an inconvenient pregnancy. That could be dealt with in the morning. Antonio tumbled into bed and was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

When morning arrived, he questioned his valet and learned that, in fact, none of the maids had turned up pregnant. The valet told him instead that he would be wanted at the house of Signior Giacosa as soon as he returned. Antonio thanked him, collected the package with the glorious hat for Bassanio, and set off to see his old friend to share his triumph.

* * *

Antonio had sent a page ahead to announce his arrival to Stefano, but was surprised to find no one present to greet him at the door. For the first time in many years, he knocked. After a moment, the door opened, revealing a servant in Stefano's livery, with an oddly downcast expression on his face.

"I have come to see Signior Giacosa," Antonio ventured. The servant bowed, and beckoned Antonio to follow him. The house was silent, and Antonio grew uneasy. Finally, the servant ushered him into a small receiving room.

"Signior Giacosa," he said.

But it was not Stefano who rose to embrace Antonio. It was Bassanio, looking haggard and bewildered, but also greatly relieved to see his godfather. Antonio had just enough time to set his gift down on a table before he caught Bassanio in his arms, wondering what had happened during his absence.

When Bassanio's embrace loosened, Antonio took a step back, and finally noticed Bassanio's attire. Usually, Bassanio was the very picture of fashion, wearing his bright clothes a little rakishly, with carefully selected portions left open so as to display his lithe young body. But today, his suit was of deepest black, conservatively cut, and fully laced, right up to the starched frill just below his chin. When he saw it, Antonio's head began to spin.

"Why, Bassanio, wherefore dost thou greet thy godfather in mourning?" he asked, though the answer was already clear.

"Most beloved Antonio," Bassanio began. His voice trailed off, and he took an instant to collect himself before he spoke again.

"It was shortly after you left -- a day, perhaps two -- that my father was struck one morning with prodigious pain in his belly, such that he could not stir from his bed. My lady mother summoned a physician, and the physician gave my father a tonic. The pain subsided the next afternoon, and for a day we thought all would be well. But in the evening of that day, the pain returned and brought with it a fever that carried my father to God in the end."

Antonio's limbs grew cold, and he groped for a chair into which he sank bonelessly. "I did not know," he moaned. "I should not have left him. Oh, my dear Stefano, that thou shouldst be cut down so swiftly in thy prime!"

Bassanio leaned down to embrace him, but his own tears began to flow again, and Antonio clasped him tighter, giving comfort as much as receiving it. Eventually, Bassanio ended up sprawled awkwardly across Antonio's lap, a seat he had occupied many times as a child, but which he had long since outgrown. Antonio wiped his own tears, and then unthinkingly took his handkerchief to Bassanio's face. Bassanio gave a watery giggle at such treatment, and Antonio smiled wryly to realize that he was cosseting a young man of seventeen years, the new Signior Giacosa, as though he were a boy of five. He kissed Bassanio's brow affectionately and gave him a light shove. Bassanio disentangled his long limbs from the chair and rose.

Antonio's gaze followed him and landed on the package that he had brought with him. He gave a snort of despairing laughter.

Bassanio tilted his head to the side. "Why, what is funny?"

"I had thought to greet thy father in joy, and tell him all the tales of my journey," Antonio said, "and then present thee with the gift that I have brought back from Verona. Wilt thou still have it?"

Bassanio blinked, as though he had only just remembered a promise of a gift made but a few days and a lifetime earlier. Almost shyly, Antonio offered him the package. Bassanio hesitated only a moment before taking it. He slipped off the linen wrappings, and the gorgeous, extravagant hat of yellow silk appeared, looking vaguely reminiscent of a Saracen's turban, almost blasphemously bright and frivolous against the gloom of the day and the dark cloth of Bassanio's suit.

Nevertheless, Bassanio smiled to see it. "It is wonderful," he said, caressing the silk between his fingers. "I shall treasure it, and when I have cast aside my mourning cloak, I shall wear this hat to a feast, and none in Venice will have one to equal it."

Antonio smiled gratefully. Bassanio spoke a little more about the changes of the past few days, of Vittoria's current seclusion and plans to enter a convent and spend the rest of her days in prayer for her late husband, and of his own infant plans to increase the Giacosa fortune and become a gentleman of means before seeking a bride. Antonio nodded and made the proper noises, but his mind was not on Bassanio's words.

Bassanio had always been a good-looking boy, though he hardly ever sat still enough for one to see it. But something had changed in the few days since Antonio had seen him last. Sudden sorrow and responsibility had given a new weight to Bassanio's bearing, and the sleek black clothing emphasized his trim, sinewy form and fathomless dark eyes. There was more as well; Antonio had always been conscientious about suppressing the sinful urges of his body, but he had been caught off guard today. When Bassanio had tumbled heedlessly into his lap, the first instinct of Antonio's heart had been to give his cherished godson comfort, but the first instinct of his loins had been to give him something else entirely.

Even now, his groin stirred uncomfortably, and Antonio crossed his legs until an opportune moment arose to rearrange his garments. Bassanio appeared not to have noticed anything out of the ordinary, for which Antonio was grateful. It seemed important to him that Bassanio never know the true extent to which he was loved by his godfather. Antonio would continue to visit him, offer him such advice, money, and friendship as he could, and that would be all. He would be the very model of a doting godfather, and if there was a darker motivation behind his attentions, then that would be between himself and God.

Or perhaps between himself and the Devil; for Antonio had no illusions about his corruptible, sinful nature. He might well be damned, but he could yet preserve Bassanio from that fate. Though the thought tore at his heart, he resolved to see Bassanio safely married, and even dared to hope that he might be permitted to dandle Bassanio's children upon his knee.

The thoughts of Bassanio's marriage reminded him of lively little Juliet Capulet, and the thought of Juliet reminded him of her father. He must write to Signior Capulet and begin the lengthy process of formalizing their trading partnership. And if that task removed him from the adoration of Bassanio's lithe back, strong jaw, and gold-tinged hair, well, that was so much the better. He rose from his chair.

"It grieves me to do so, but I must leave thee now, Bassanio," Antonio said. "Go thou in to thy lady mother and convey my greetings to her, and give her what comfort you may. I must make various letters to send forth to Verona."

"Ay, I understand," Bassanio replied. "Shall I see you again?"

"Of course. Thou art my own dear godson, and thou art my friend as well."

Bassanio embraced Antonio briefly. Antonio was the one to break the embrace before anything untoward should arise between them, and placed a fatherly kiss on Bassanio's brow.

"Call upon me in my home when thou art prepared to face the world," he said, "and advise me when thy mother is preparing to take her vows, for I would not lose the chance to bid her farewell."

"I will remember."

With one last caress of Bassanio's hair, Antonio left him and made his way home. The sky had clouded over, and it seemed a fitting match for the weight in his heart. It seemed to him that he had not paid nearly enough attention to the words of the Evangelists, for their meaning thundered through his mind with striking new clarity. He had gained a new world of commerce on his journey to Verona, but those riches seemed a hollow consolation for the loss of his friend and the damnation of his soul. The Gospels had been right; there was no profit in it at all.

* * *

END

* * *

Afterword: Thanks to everyone who has read this story. I don't know if I'll return to _The Merchant of Venice_, but it was definitely fun to peek into this different city and set of characters. Bassanio probably could have used another couple of years under his father's tutelage, because he never does figure out how to handle money, but at least he does get a rich bride in the end. And Antonio might just have been better off in provincial old Verona after all.


End file.
